In 1437, the Portuguese prince Don Fernando is taken prisoner by the Sultan of Morocco after an unsuccessful military expedition. In exchange for his freedom, the prince is ordered by the Sultan to destroy the town of Ceuta, a Catholic stronghold in North Africa. Prince Fernando decides that his life is not worth such a concession. He prefers life as a slave in a Muslim prison.

Fernando died in 1443. He was made a saint by the Catholic Church, and his heroic deed was glorified, in part, becoming the subject of Calderon's philosophical drama, ‘The Constant Prince’ (El Principe constant, 1629).

The goal here isn't to be liked or to entertain. There is a certain pain here that haunts me. By nature I am bound up in things spectacular, by which I mean to say that I love the integrity of theater, although this integrity has fallen ill in my soul. Something has happened to it. Hence, this huge work, in the making for nearly three years, is shot through with pain. In this regard it may shock some or be unbearable to others. There is nothing I can do about that.

That is the nature of the baroque, everything is slipped into specific layers, in which pain and joy lie on top of each other and, sometimes, like lovers, they roll over and exchange places. That's how the baroque arises. It arises in the intersection of culturally taboo limits, and there is no way getting around that.